Tuesday, December 05, 2006

A New Episode

Liz continues:I had followed my hairdresser around to a couple of different salons. Due to the afore mentioned cocaine addiction (8 ball variety, I'm sure), she didn't stay in one place more than 6 months. Although she wasn't working out of high end establishments where a dry cut will cost $75, she was at least working in reputable places. That didn't last either.The GH (generous hairdresser) called me on my cell phone one day. After she had moved out of the living arrangement she had with the Vet in the hotel, she left her job and moved in with a girl friend. GH was calling to tell me that she had relocated and wanted me to be able to find her. After some chit chat about how I had been trying to get in touch with her (her phone had been cut off and the most previous salon wouldn't disclose her new location) she gave me directions to her new place of employment: her friend's house.OK. I KNEW better. I KNEW I shouldn't cross that line but hell, I can't help myself. She knows my hair AND trashy isn't a crime in itself. What I didn't realize is the affect being in a salon had on her. She WAS being professional (in her world) when she was "working" for someone else. But running the "shop" out of her buddies house? Hell, that's a fucking free-for-all.She answered the door in a loose, nylon tank top without a bra- the kind of shirt that, although not form fitting, gave me intimate knowledge of her areola. Also there was her "roommate" and her roommate's married trucker boyfriend. He stops by when he's trucking through town, bangs some of dat, and rolls on. An interesting side note is that the roommate is also banging a police officer (married) who patrols their neighborhood to make sure their house isn't burglarized (yeah, I'm sure he's not OVERLOOKING any illegal activity or anything). The cop will call roommate at any hour of the night, roommate will get up, unlock the door, take a shower and when she gets out of the shower, he's sitting in a chair in her room. She pretends NOT to see him and masturbates while he watches. But I digress.I was mildly surprised that they were all drinking tequila and it wasn't even 5 PM. There were also several opened prescription bottles on the table next to the booze. I guess someone had a cold or something. I am not one to judge such things. I do, however, have stringent rules about PDAs (public displays of affection); every one of which was violated by roommate and trucker. Of course, this wasn't public, this was roommate's house. They can do whatever they want to do in the house/business... right? Ten or fifteen slaps on the ass, a couple of hands on crotches, some titty grabbing... ok. I was uncomfortable. Watching people makeout and grind in front of me while my hair is processing urks me a bit. Hearing 30 minutes of, "I'm going to fuck you so hard. Come her and let me feel you." "Oh, you're going to fuck me hard, huh? How are you going to fuck me. What are you going to do?" I kept trying to find new things to look at. I tried to go to a safe place inside my mind.I'm a prude, what can I say?GH also wanted me to watch TV with her. THIS was weird. Roommate and trucker had gone out for dinner and GH and I were on the couch watching TV on demand. Some comedian that she found HILARIOUS. I probably would have laughed more, but I kept looking around waiting for:

The cops to bust the joint

Whatever stain was closest to me to touch my clothes

The malnourished cats to die in front me

My purse to mysteriously disappear

It was very harrowing.

This was the LONGEST trip to the "salon" ever. We finally washed out my hair in the kitchen sink. NO LIE there were dishes in the sink including what looked like a dried bowl of chili only inches from my head.

There's more... I just can't go back there.

Once I left, I SWORE I would never do that again.

That was about 7 months ago. She called last night. She's been in Birmingham with the FEMA fuck (ex-ex-ex boyfriend's best friend) and they are currently living in a hotel near my town. She was just calling to let me know she's back. Although she hasn't had a valid barber's license in over a year, she's getting ready to set up shop again soon. She asked me if I had considered adding red highlights to my hair since it's winter.

I know I'm an idiot, but I'm ((THIS)) close to being her first appointment. My hair hasn't met it's full potential since she ditched town.

I had a wonderful hairdresser we called the Elvis of Hair. He was a pill popping junky and was the biggest diva I had ever met. He also managed to step over any line I ever thought I had drawn about personal space and topics of discussion...but I loved Elvis. My hair was always fabulous.

UNTIL...

Remember the pill popping? Yeah, it was vicodin. He became quite the addict after a back injury. Unfortunately, the ending to this story is tragic. EoH's back continued to hurt, but instead of going back to the doctor, he just continued to get illegal 'scripts from clients (and this was at a $75 for a dry cut salon). He popped more pills to avoid the pain and the hair styles slowly became more colorful. Once, he forgot to tone after he bleached the color out. Dolly Parton's wigs had nothing on me. Once, I had 4 color hair, and not because I asked for it.

Poor EoH continued to ignore his pain until he finally wound up in the hospital. He was eaten up with cancer and didn't make it. It took me a while, but I found a hair dresser I could mold. And now, 4 years later, I've almost got her listening to me!

I really don't think you are a prude, frankly, you are lucky that you didn't sit on a syringe. I would maybe say let her come do your hair at your place but she would just be casing the joint and you would come home one day and all your stuff would be gone.

I had my hair mutilated to some horrid blotchy shade of platinum blonde this weekend when I said I wanted HIGHLIGHTS (and yes, I may still be crying) so I understand the need for good hair. Meet in a safe, well lit public place I say.